"Without those seeds," she says, "I would just be one of the hundreds of thousands of people who make jewelry."

The heirloom seeds that Groat grows and crafts into art represent more than a hobby to her. They represent 10,000 years of women's toil and farmers' sweat. They represent outrage at the loss of precious heirloom crops in an industrialized world.

She is not amused when people ask silly questions that disrespect the bean and its sister vegetable, corn.

"I've been at craft shows where people ask questions like, 'If I'm outside, will squirrels chase me?' and 'If I get it wet, will my necklace sprout?'" says Groat, 58.

"One time this lady said to me, 'If it's really hot outside, will the corn on my necklace pop?' And I thought to myself, lady, if it's that hot outside, the necklace will be the last thing you'll worry about."

Jewelry usually does not have a subtext of agricultural urgency. So if people fail to properly appreciate the seeds, perhaps it is because so few people understand what Groat actually does.

It is technically difficult to attach seeds to jewelry prongs, much less organically grow heirloom beans and corn, harvest it by hand, then spend at least 7 months drying, freezing and preparing seeds before they can be used.

It has been 11 years of trial and error to perfect her secret process of drilling a seed, but leaving it perfectly undamaged.

She is also ruthless about the seeds she uses in her art. Misfits that are misshapen or imperfect go straight into her soup pot.

And she has figured out that she can't buy other people's seeds. Commercial heirloom seed companies tend to harvest by machine, which leaves chips and cracks. So she needs to grow her own.

In her second-floor workshop in her rural home in Rhodes, Mich., Groat works amid glass jars brimming with bean and corn seeds. They have exotic and folksy names — Indian Woman, Red Calypso, Tigers Eye, Black Good Mother, Mayflower, Jacob's Cattle, Hopi Blue and Oaxacan Green Dent.

Plain-spoken and plainly dressed, Groat pours everything she's got into the beauty of her jewelry

"It is exceptional," says Michelle Holmes, manager of the Dow Gardens gift shop in Midland, Mich., which has carried Groat's work for three years. Holmes has seen a lot of other jewelry but nothing that surprises shoppers so much.

"They say, 'Are those seeds?'" she says. "It's a great conversation piece."

Debra Groat is the sister, daughter, granddaughter and great-granddaughter of Michigan farmers. Her family has worked the land and raised dairy cattle in Standish since the 1880s.

Her passion for seeds may seem strange to city dwellers, but in every small, modest, overlooked bean seed she sees a trail of glory.

"People who immigrated to America brought their seeds with them, and if they didn't save those seeds and plant them, they didn't eat," she says. She holds some shiny black seeds in the palm of her hand.

"I look at these seeds, and I can feel I might start crying. The thought that the Cherokees carried them on the Trail of Tears, that they carried the exact same bean I have here, it just gives me the shivers."

At least 93 percent of vegetable seed varieties planted in the U.S. have gone extinct since the early 1900s, according to the Rural Advancement Foundation International, which advocates for environmentally sound farming practices. Those seeds were replaced by a handful of commercial hybrids and genetically modified seeds.

Her company, Saverine Creek Heirlooms, is named after a river that runs through the family farm. Her earrings, bracelets and necklaces are for sale online for $24 to $136, and at a few gift shops, and once she came pretty close to being featured in Paula Deen Magazine. But 11 years in, "I've never turned a profit," she says.

This February, Groat's garden is fallow, its rough ground surrounded by lonely wire fencing. The land is windswept with snow.

In winter, she still shells dried beans while watching TV. She is home-schooling an 18-year-old grandson at her house. She exhibits her work when and where she can, avoiding craft shows and their dumb questions, preferring master gardening shows and their wiser patrons.

Her work, though not famous, contains a strength and character that speaks to her passion for the objects used in it. Beans are plain. But beans feed the world.

"For her, it's a cause. It's a lifestyle, using these heirloom seeds that are almost forgotten. And she's very fine technically," says friend Nelson Yoder. "It is very rare, very unusual, what she does. I don't know how she promotes it, but the right person would be overjoyed by such a gift."

But she certainly won't share her techniques or supplies with other jewelry makers.

"When people call and ask if they can buy my seeds, I say no," she says. "I grow just enough to make my jewelry, have some for eating and to replant. If people want seeds for jewelry, they should grow their own for 10 years first.

"People want to copy me, and it gets under my skin."

One thing Groat has in her workshop is a basket of old seed jewelry that people have given her over the years. One strange necklace has some kind of unknown white round seeds, plus a long, white razor-edged bone the length of a finger.

Yet another necklace is crafted of tiny squash seeds, hundreds of them, dyed orange and a deeper orange to create a pattern. It's strung on plain string. The end has a safety pin on it. She touches the necklace reverently.

"This is old. You can tell it is authentic Native American," she says. "I should have it restored."

There is one piece of good news about this old seed necklace. It did not sprout, nor did squirrels chase it.

WHAT IS AN HEIRLOOM SEED?

Heirloom seeds are what fed the pioneers. What Cherokee women carried on the forced Trail of Tears march west. What farmers all over the world planted until the mid-20th Century.

Seeds from true heirlooms are self-reproducing, coming up exactly the same each generation. But almost all modern seeds at the store are hybrids, which grow true only for one season (if you harvest the seeds and replant, they either won't sprout or will revert to look like one parent.)

Debra Groat and her brother Doug Hagley are alarmed by the disappearance of heirloom vegetable and grain seeds — and even more so by the advent of genetically modified crops that can cross-pollinate and contaminate older varieties.

"The diversity of crops, which we will need as different diseases and pests arise, is being destroyed," Hagley says.

FIND OUT MORE

Where to buy: See Groat's jewelry online at www.saverinecreek.com (989-879-1026), or at seven gift shops in the state, including Dow Gardens in Midland; it also is sold at some master gardener events. For a schedule and shop list, see www.saverinecreek.com/local.htm.